“Not yet. But I will figure it out. Do you have any fathomlethes in there?” he asked Della.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” she said.
“Why, what are fathomlethes?” Sophie asked.
“Tiny pearls we sometimes find in rare river oysters,” Dex told her. “They give you crazy dreams, but they can also help you access your long-term memories—”
“Which is exactly what I need,” Keefe jumped in. “Please?” he asked Della. “He said she’s been preparing me. That means there have to be clues I didn’t pick up on. Now that I know what to look for, I can find them.”
Della sighed and took out a bottle filled with what looked like blue-green caviar. “You can have one,” she said, removing it with tiny tongs. “And this is a one-time-only thing.”
Keefe popped it into his mouth and swallowed. “How long do I have before it hits me?”
“Probably about fifteen minutes,” Dex said.
“I guess that’s my cue, then.” Keefe waved good night and left for the boys’ tree house. “Time to get some answers.”
TWENTY-FOUR
CALLA AND MR. FORKLE still hadn’t returned by bedtime, and even the reveriebells couldn’t calm Sophie’s tangled dreams. Lady Gisela’s wounded face kept morphing into Gethen’s as he sat chained in his cell. Squall loomed over him, and he screamed in Keefe’s mom’s voice. Then his fingernails turned to ice and everything splattered red.
She dragged herself out of bed at sunrise, hoping a walk by the river would clear her head. A soft song rustling through the forest caught her attention.
She raced into the trees, chasing the sound to a small clearing where she found Calla singing with her palms pressed against one of the trunks.
“You’re back!” she said, startling Calla so much the poor gnome nearly fell over. “Sorry. I’m just glad you’re okay. I was worried when you weren’t home last night.”
“We only returned an hour ago, wanting to make sure we hadn’t missed anything.”
“And?” Sophie pressed.
Calla slumped against the tree. “And . . . we found nothing. No shielded trees. No whispers of warnings in the roots. The Black Swan is moving one of Gethen’s dwarven guards to keep an eye on the area, but it’s possible that will only make the Neverseen change their plan.”
“Do you have any idea what they’re up to?”
“I don’t. And that’s what terrifies me. In all my four thousand, three hundred and twenty-nine years on this planet—”
“Four thousand,” Sophie interrupted. “You’re four thousand, three hundred and twenty-nine years old?” She knew the elves had indefinite lifespans, so it wasn’t that big of a stretch to know that gnomes did too. But the number was too huge to fit in her brain.
“I believe that’s the right age,” Calla agreed. “Though there have been stretches where I lost count. But in all that time, I’ve never felt anything like the worry I felt coming from Brackendale. That’s why I took such a risk to bring you and Biana to investigate. Whatever we’re facing is unlike anything I’ve experienced. The melodies reminded me of our ancient warnings.”
“Warnings?” Sophie repeated.
“Songs so old we don’t even know who first sang them. They warn of a great Withering before an endless Fall. But our history holds no record of any such occurrence.”
Sophie wasn’t a fan of the word “endless.” “But you believe there’s a cure?”
Calla pressed her ear against the tree. “I believe nature always finds a way. But it also does so on its own timeline. We must hope that timeline is faster than the Neverseen, or whoever is behind this plague.”
Sophie wanted to do more than hope—she wanted to act. There had to be missing something, some deeper meaning behind what Gethen had said, or some detail in the Exillium records they’d overlooked to help them find the Psionipath.
She returned to her tree house prepared to gather her friends and come up with a plan. But they’d already gathered—all except Keefe—and were waiting around the waterfall.
Dex held up a gadget that looked even crazier than his Evader. “I figured out how to break into the Lumenaria database!”
It looked like he’d wired pieces of Imparters together and shaped them into a pyramid, with six long antennas sticking out of the top point. Five were made of different metals—gold, silver, bronze, copper, and iron. And the sixth looked like a twig.
“I know the stick part is weird,” Dex said, “but I needed this thing to broadcast in all six technologies. The elves, ogres, trolls, goblins, and dwarves were easy to figure out, but I had no idea what to do for the gnomes. I tried solar-powered stuff, but it still seemed too techie. Then I saw some branches on the ground and thought, why not?”
Only Dex would decide to jab a gadget with a stick.
“You should’ve heard him squeal when it worked,” Fitz said. “I thought a banshee had snuck into the room.”
“Ignore my son,” Della told Dex. “You deserve to be excited.”
“Yeah, I can’t believe you figured it out so fast,” Biana told him.
Sophie smiled. “Dex is a genius.”
Dex’s grin turned supernova.
He pressed the base of the gadget, making the pyramid glow green. He had to wave it around a few times, like when humans try to search for a stronger cell phone signal, but eventually a crackly hum filled the room and a fuzzy hologram appeared.
Sophie squinted at the image. “Is that a scroll?”
“A super old one. The database is filled with them. I’ve just started going through. I was looking for stuff about the Wildwood Colony, but this one caught my eye because of all the smudges.” He pointed to black smears covering whole paragraphs. “These runes have been blacked out, which means someone is trying to keep something secret. But they must’ve run low on ink because at the end it’s thin enough for a few words to peek through—and if I’m reading them right, it proves the ogres have something that gives them leverage with the Council.”
It took a moment for the gravity of the revelation to hit.
“So . . . you’re saying the ogres have a way to control the Councillors?” Sophie asked.
“It kinda makes sense,” Fitz said quietly. “Alvar’s always talking about the crazy restrictions the ogres put on him when he visits Ravagog, and how none of the other creatures would get away with them.”
“Right,” Dex agreed. “And the really weird part is, you can see it right in the treaty—I checked. The treaties for the other species basically say, ‘We will allow you to remain free because you will do whatever we tell you.’ But the ogre treaty is like, ‘We promise we won’t use our abilities on you, or visit your cities, or ask too many questions about anything you’re doing, and you’re allowed to continue building weapons as long as you promise not to use them, and you can do all kinds of other dangerous things too and we won’t stop you, and if we do, you have the right to declare war.’ Why would the Council agree to any of that? It doesn’t make sense. Until you look at this.”
He twisted the gadget again, and the hologram zoomed in to part of the scroll where the ink had run thin.
Sophie squinted at the runes peeking through the faded ink. “What does it say?”
“You can’t read it?” Biana asked her.
“Only if it’s written in the Black Swan’s code.”
Mr. Forkle had taught her mind to translate their special cipher runes, which came in handy—until she needed to read anything in normal runes. Great plan, guys!
“It’s hard to tell without most of the context,” Dex said, “but this sentence is talking about how the ogres will retain possession of something that’s clearly super important, and the word they tried to black out is ‘drakostomes.’ ”
Sophie frowned. “That sounds like some sort of fungus.”
“So it doesn’t trigger any memories?” Dex asked.
His shoulders slumped when she shook her head. “I was hoping I’d say the
word and the memory would click and you’d have all the answers.”
Sophie sighed. “Welcome to working with the Black Swan. It’s full of disappointments!”
“Or maybe the Black Swan doesn’t know either,” Fitz reminded them.
“Well, whatever they are, they seem to be something the Council really wants,” Dex said. “And I’m guessing the Neverseen allied with the ogres because of them, probably after they realized they’d never get their hands on Silveny and Greyfell. Wouldn’t that explain why the Council’s gotten so weird lately? Haven’t their craziest decisions happened since the ogres got involved? Then suddenly Sophie was the number one enemy and they were vowing to hunt down the Black Swan instead of the Neverseen?”
“It does explain a lot,” Della agreed. “Alden and I have had many conversations about how the ogres have slaughtered hundreds of goblins without punishment. They also stole the gnomes’ homeland—dammed up the river and starved the gnomes out. And even after the gnomes came to us for aid, the ancient Council let the ogres keep Serenvale as part of the treaty.”
“I thought that was because the ogres refused to leave,” Fitz said. “So the only way to force them out would’ve been war.”
“That’s true,” Della agreed. “And they offered the gnomes protection in the Lost Cities—and and not because they suspected how useful the gnomes would become. I’ve heard stories from the ancient Vackers about how stunned they were the first time the gnomes shared their harvest, and it was the gnomes who volunteered to help with other tasks. Still, the Council made the trolls return the dwarven mines they’d stolen—but in that case, the trolls needed our medicine.”
“Exactly,” Dex said. “And these drakostomes seem to work the opposite way. Something the Council wants—or maybe something they’re afraid of—that gives the ogres the upper hand.”
“But what are they?” Biana asked. “What would make the Council grant the ogres’ demands?”
A question formed in Sophie’s mind—one she didn’t want to ask, even after all the times the Council had sided against her.
“Do you think they have something to do with the plague?” she whispered.
“I thought of that,” Dex said, “but . . . this scroll is ollllllllllld. So if the ogres have had the drakostomes all this time, why would they suddenly be like, ‘Let’s use it on Wildwood!’ ”
Sophie didn’t have an answer.
Could trying to read King Dimitar’s mind have been that big of a deal?
“And that’s all you’ve found about the drakostomes?” she asked.
“So far. But there’s a lot to sort through.” Dex tapped his gadget, shutting down the hologram. “I’ll search as fast as I can. But right now I have to check each scroll one by one. I’m hoping I can make some tweaks to search by keyword or something.”
“Please be careful,” Della said. “It’s amazing that you’ve been able to gain access this quickly, but doesn’t that worry you? I don’t mean this as an insult—you’re clearly a brilliant Technopath—but doesn’t it almost seem too easy?”
Dex flipped over the gadget to show her a tightly coiled wire. “Don’t worry. This emits a signal that erases any trace of where I’ve been. No one will have any idea I was there.”
“Assuming you haven’t missed a security protocol,” Della reminded him. “Let’s all try not to underestimate the Council. If these drakostomes are a crucial secret, they’ll have gone to great lengths to protect it.”
“She’s right,” Sophie said. “And we should be really careful who we tell about this—especially Calla.”
If the drakostomes were related to the plague, they wouldn’t just have proof that the ogres were behind it.
They’d have proof the Council knew this could happen and never warned the gnomes.
TWENTY-FIVE
THE NEXT FEW days were quiet—too quiet for Sophie’s liking.
The dwarf stationed in Merrowmarsh kept reporting “no change,” as did Sior when he’d check in with the Collective to update them on his search for Keefe’s mom with Lur and Mitya. Keefe hid in his room, searching his memories, and so far he hadn’t found anything worth sharing. Even Dex didn’t make any progress with his new gadget. He’d named it the Twiggler, because it seemed to grow more powerful with every stick he added. But he still couldn’t make it search the scrolls any faster.
Mr. Forkle must’ve sensed everyone’s angst, because he kept reminding them to focus on their training. The Collective was still moving forward with their plan for rescuing Prentice.
She kept busy by working through trust exercises with Fitz, which did at least seem to be helping. By the end of the week Fitz could transmit to Sophie even when Calla had led her deep into the forest. And Sophie could feel herself needing way less concentration, even when she worked alone. She barely had to strain when she called Silveny to check on her, and the alicorn’s memories were so sharp Sophie often had to remind herself she was still in her tree house.
Biana made progress as well. She could hold her vanish for so long, Sophie would forget she was in the room. But Biana couldn’t figure out how to hide from Calla, and neither could Della. Calla kept explaining that she saw “glints of life”—which sounded a bit like pollen—gathering on their skin and giving them away. But they couldn’t sense those glints, so they didn’t know how to block them. Biana was determined to figure it out, though, and tried all kinds of crazy methods, most of which did nothing more than give her a headache.
When they weren’t improving their abilities, Della insisted they learn basic fighting skills, since self-defense was a type of violence the elvin mind could tolerate. The moves weren’t all that different from human martial arts. And of course Sophie’s clumsy limbs refused to cooperate, while Fitz, Biana, and Dex excelled.
Sophie quickly grew tired of feeling sore and pathetic—and even more tired of only seeing Keefe when he sulked out of his room for meals—so when Fitz, Dex, and Biana were practicing some sort of scissor-kick that would surely tear every muscle in her body, she slipped away and pounded on Keefe’s bedroom door.
“I’m not leaving until you talk to me,” she told him.
When Keefe finally relented, she ducked under his arm and snuck into his room.
“Um . . . wow,” she whispered, stepping back to take in the full effect.
Three of his four walls had been covered floor to ceiling in scribbled-on pieces of paper, like something a serial killer would do. More notes were scattered on the floor, his desk, the bed.
“So . . . you’ve been busy,” Sophie said carefully. “Did the fathomlethe make you remember all this?”
Keefe kicked a crumpled note under the bed. “It gave me a surge. But the rest is just me.”
Sophie crossed to the most cluttered wall and squinted at his messy writing.
First day of Foxfire——where was she?
Level Four midterm gift——reason?
Why did she make them test me twice to see if I’d manifested as a Conjurer?
Keefe kicked another crumpled note that said something about the Celestial Festival. “It’s a lot to search through, y’know? Photographic memory.”
Sophie nodded. She turned to the wall that sat catty-corner, where the notes seemed to be focused on his more recent memories.
Dad’s missing blue pathfinder——was it her? Where did she go?
When did she rig my Sencen Crest?
Was she one of Sophie and Dex’s kidnappers? Did she hurt them?
What is she “preparing” me for?
Sophie traced her fingers over the last note. “Can I help?”
“I don’t see how. It’s all about what’s in my memories, and lucky for you, you didn’t grow up in that house.”
“I’m a Telepath,” she reminded him. “I can search your memories and project them in a memory log. Wouldn’t it be nice to have the whole picture, instead of just scraps of paper?”
Keefe ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t kno
w.”
Sophie picked up a note that said: Did she ever love me?
“Please let me help,” she begged.
Keefe sank onto his bed. Scraps of paper fluttered to the floor and Sophie checked the messages:
Door on level thirty-three——where does it go?
Why so many books in her office——she never reads!
Did she ever wear the necklace I gave her?
“Please,” she whispered. “Working alone is so much harder—it’s what I used to do, remember? Until someone forced me to include them.”
One side of his mouth twitched with the hint of a smile. “Sounds like that person is a genius. Probably shockingly good-looking, too.”
“Eh.” She laughed when he actually looked wounded. “Oh please, you know you’re a heartbreaker. You don’t need me to tell you that.”
“Hey, I have never broken any hearts.”
“Maybe not intentionally. But come on. When you or Fitz start dating, there will be crying in the Foxfire halls. I bet there are girls crying now, wishing you guys hadn’t left.”
“Not if they’ve heard how awesome my mom is.”
“There are still just as many Keefe fangirls, trust me. Everyone loves the bad boys.”
She expected some epic Keefe teasing about her use of the word “everyone.” Instead, his shoulders dropped and he asked, “So . . . you think I’m bad?”
She grabbed a note that said “The Great Gulon Incident” and handed it to him.
His half smile returned. “Point taken.”
She brushed more notes off the bed and sat next to him. “You haven’t answered my question, by the way. Will you let me help?”
Keefe stared at his ceiling. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Let’s just say my head is not an awesome place right now.”
“So? I’ve been in Prentice’s head, remember? And Fintan’s. And Brant’s!”
“Great. So you think I’m the same as a bunch of psychos.”
“I never said that. And Prentice isn’t psycho.”
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